


Lift me up and hold me tight

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Strength Kink, Strong Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Aziraphale discovers something about Crowley and can't get it out of his head.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 179





	Lift me up and hold me tight

**Author's Note:**

> for an anonymous supporter.  
> Their request was: "A 1600 fic where Aziraphale has a strength kink and Crowley is really, really strong. I'll leave it to you as to how smutty or fluffy this can be."
> 
> I hope you like it, dear. Should you ever wish to have this story dedicated to you, let me know! <3

It was a mild and moonlit night in the autumn of 1711. Aziraphale left the little cosy tavern he had found a few hours ago, accompanied by Crowley. With each cup of whine it had become harder to hide his joy about seeing the demon again and, by now, Aziraphale had given up on it. Wide and bright, he smiled at Crowley as they decided to go to Aziraphale’s current residence for one last cup.

“So, you heard me, angel?” Crowley said. “These bandits in the woods? You stay away from them.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pouted. “It’s such a nice night. Do we have to talk about these brutes again?”

“We can stop talking about them as soon as I’m sure you understood,” Crowley insisted. “These aren’t your garden variety outlaws. There are demons among them.”

“So you said.”

“You cannot go against them without Divine back-up, understood?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and smiled, looking at Crowley through the wine induced haze.

“Whatever you say, dear,” he said and focused on his path again.

Suddenly his arm was seized, lightning fast he was pushed against the tavern wall and trapped between the cold stone and a warm body.

On instinct Aziraphale pushed back, but Crowley did not budge. He had one of Aziraphale’s wrists in his right hand’s iron grip while his left pressed against Aziraphale’s right shoulder, effectively keeping him in place.

“I’m serious, angel,” Crowley growled, his eyes reflecting the pale moonlight. “They are dangerous. You stay away. If you want them gone, inform Gabriel or that wanker Michael if you must. Do NOT go against them alone!”

Over the sudden rush of his own blood Aziraphale barely heard Crowley. Fascinated, he strained against Crowley’s hold, strangely addicted to the feeling of Crowley gripping him tighter the more he struggled. Where Crowley touched Aziraphale, the angel felt like he was burning, a heat that slowly spread through his whole body, colouring his cheeks even more than the wine.

Aziraphale should be scared or at least angry to be helpless in a demon’s grip, but fear or anger were the last things on his mind. His eyes wandered to the hand around his wrists and lingered there, captivated by the long fingers, pinning the Guardian of the Eastern Gate so easily.

A gasp fell from the angel’s lips when Crowley snarled, without effort now seized both the angel’s wrists in one large hand and held them above his head. With his free hand Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s chin and forced him to meet his eyes.

“Answer me,” he demanded. “Am. I. Understood?”

Aziraphale swallowed. Not trusting his voice, he resorted to nodding.

With a satisfied grunt, Crowley let go of Aziraphale who immediately missed the heat of the warm body, the nightly breeze suddenly too cold against his skin.

“Good,” Crowley said. “Come on, angel. Let’s get you home. You promised more wine.”

“Of…,” Aziraphale croaked and cleared his throat. “Of course, dear. This way.”

For decades Aziraphale could not get this encounter out of his head. Whenever he met Crowley, the angel could not help gaze at his friend’s long and elegant fingers and remember how they had felt, circled around his wrist.

The first time Aziraphale riled Crowley up _on purpose_ was near the end of the 18th century and really just an experiment. Only to verify it had not been the alcohol that had weakened Aziraphale, making it so easy for Crowley to overpower him.

So Aziraphale made sure he was sober, well fed and focused. Over the centuries the angel had learned that two things made Crowley angry: Aziraphale endangering himself and Crowley being called ‘good’ or ‘nice’. So combining those two would do a nice job of provoking Crowley. Part one was already done. Hence the angry demon, now storming into the room Aziraphale had rented in London.

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” Crowley roared.

The feral sound made Aziraphale’s knees go weak, but he managed to appear unfazed. Leisurely, he grabbed a bookmark, put it in the novel he was reading and closed the book. With a friendly smile and an innocent face, he left his seat and looked at Crowley.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Crowley,” he said. “There is quite a lot on my mind lately, you know? So I really have been thinking a lot.”

“Don’t play dumb, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed while he crossed the room in three long strides. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Are you talking about my little surprise visit yesterday?” Aziraphale asked, knowing full well that this was it. “I knocked before entering – unlike you by the way - and when I realised the foul mood you were in, I left you be immediately.”

A humourless laugh escaped Crowley.

“Foul mood?” he repeated. “Angel, I told you that I my last assignment drained me and I needed to take my snake form to regenerate.”

“Yes, you did,” Aziraphale said. “I just wanted to bring you a snack for after turning back.”

“But,” Crowley pressed out between gritted teeth, “I told you that after turning back into human shape I’ll be at my most demonic for a few hours and that you should keep away.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows as if he had trouble remembering this part. But then he nodded and said, “Ah, yes, you did! Honestly, I thought you were just being dramatic.”

“Dramat…? Aziraphale! I could have hurt you. When my demonic instincts take over… what’s so funny?”

With a theatrical gesture Aziraphale hid his mouth behind his hand which of course did nothing to muffle his chuckle.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, dear,” he lied. “But the thought that you could hurt me…”

“What about it?” Crowley asked in a dark tone while he stepped closer, his body now only inches from Aziraphales.

“Dear, no offense,” Aziraphale said, faking hesitation to spell it out. “You _are_ a demon. But a very nice…”

The collision of his body with the wardrobe behind him knocked the air out of Aziraphale for a moment. One of Crowley’s hands lay protectively between Aziraphale’s head and the wood, but the angel’s back hit the closet painfully.

With wide eyes Aziraphale stared into Crowley’s angry golden ones.

“Never underestimate me, Aziraphale.” His voice was calm, but in this calm wavered dark danger that had Aziraphale’s knees buckle. Not that Crowley would notice with how firmly he had pinned Aziraphale.

Aziraphale could barely move and not for lack of trying. He writhed, he wiggled, he pushed. Nothing. His breath was ragged, his face burned and his heart raced.

“I know myself best,” Crowley said. “So if I say stay away, you will, understood?”

Aziraphale gulped and nodded.

“Understood,” he somehow managed to say.

Sighing, Crowley moved away and rubbed his face.

“Alright,” he said. “Get your coat, angel. I’ll buy you lunch.”

Aziraphale had his answer and it could have been the end of it. But it was not.

From now on Aziraphale became incredibly clumsy around Crowley, regularly losing his balance and almost falling – if not for a vigilant demon catching him with strong arms at the last second. Sometimes he still sprained an ankle and had to be carried.

Very often Aziraphale hurt his back shortly before something heavy had to be lifted which fortunately only happened when Crowley was nearby. So Crowley would groan and complain, but still without further ado lift boxes full of weighty books or new shelves for the shop as if they were nothing. All the while Aziraphale watched, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

And of course, now and again, Aziraphale would (choose to) forget Crowley hated to be called ‘nice’ or similar adjectives. Even when they were looking for traces of the Antichrist in a former convent. But this was an episode in their life where there was not much time for games.

After Armageddon’t however, Aziraphale got cocky yet again. He was standing between Crowley’s plants in the demon’s Mayfair apartment and frowned at the shivering flora around him.

“Dear,” he sighed. “I don’t understand why you torture these poor things so much. Usually you’re such a sweet pers…”

To no surprise, Aziraphale found himself against the wall at once. Both his wrists were pinned at eye level, Crowley’s body pressed against the angel’s, angry snake eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s.

Maybe it was because the fear of Heaven was gone, maybe it was because he had grown even closer to Crowley after their fight for Earth. But whatever it was, this time Aziraphale was unable to maintain his composure.

So deliciously helpless in Crowley’s hold again, the sharp and handsome face only inches away and the hot breath washing over his skin, Aziraphale could not stop the whimper falling from his lips.

“How often do I need to tell you…,” Crowley started ranting but stopped the moment he heard the noise.

At first he was stunned, but then understanding spread across his features, followed by a smug smile.

“You little minx,” he said in a mixture of astonishment and satisfaction. “You’re doing this on purpose! You _like_ it when I do that.”

“I… I merely find it interesting.”

“Interesting? How?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, blushing in deep red. “I’m an angel and still I can’t… and you don’t even break a sweat… I… um… You don’t look like it, but you’re very…”

“…strong?” Crowley chuckled. “Angel, I built galaxies! You think everything out there is light and gas? Suns, planets, asteroids. Mass, Aziraphale, pure and heavy mass. We starmakers knew how to carry our weight. Literally.”

“Oh.”

A short silence fell, but the whole time Crowley grinned at the mortified angel.

“So, just interesting?” he asked after a while.

Before Aziraphale could answer, Crowley once again took both Aziraphale’s hands in one of his to secure them above his head, eliciting another helpless sound from the angel.

“How cute,” he chuckled. “Little angel needs a strong hand. Sweet innocent Aziraphale likes being manhandled.”

Then he grabbed Aziraphale’s hair with his free hand and brought their mouths together.

Aziraphale felt his body go taut and then melt in Crowley’s arms. It was hardly possible, but still he tried pressing himself closer against the demon. The kiss was sweet and tender, the soft caress a thrilling contrast to Crowley’s firm grip on Aziraphale’s wrists and in his hair. After a while Crowley carefully tried parting Aziraphale’s lips, not demanding, without any pressure. But Aziraphale complied, deepening the contact. When the bulge in his trousers brushed against something similar in Crowley’s, they both gasped into the kiss before breaking apart.

With reddened cheeks and heaving chests, their foreheads leaning against each other, they caught their breaths. Crowley still had Aziraphale pinned against the wall and studied the angel’s face with dark eyes.

“By you,” Aziraphale suddenly whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“The… the manhandling,” Aziraphale clarified, blushing and stuttering. “I like to be manhandled by _you_ , not in general. I mean, I _do_ enjoy the display of strength, obviously...”

He looked down at the tented fabric of his trousers.

“Obviously,” Crowley repeated with a smirk.

“…but it is much more intense with you.”

It was true. Aziraphale was an angel so hardly overpowered by humans, but among the angels were several who could best him. And while he sometimes might have been flustered, watching, for example, Gabriel wielding his full power, it was nothing compared to seeing Crowley do it.

Crowley’s face softened and he smiled.

“Interesting,” he said while he played with Aziraphale’s curls. “So you need _my_ strong hand?”

Biting his lips, Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley leant forward and playfully nipped at Aziraphale’s bottom lip.

“No problem,” he said, his voice low and dark. “I’ll give you that and so much more.”

End

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it (especially you, anonymous supporter). Let me know your thoughts in the comments and/or leave me a kudos.
> 
> Thanks again for the support! <3


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